Hermione Granger is scared. The nightmares are frequent and sleep is rare. Her relationship with Ron is not what she thought it was. Stuck in a circle of despair she is trying hard to regain the famed Gryffindor courage while maintaining appearance...
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~ Draco Malfoy
He would have played it off as a dream but now he had evidence to last nights events. In his hand was the reply the Mudblood had sent back. Achilles, his owl had left the envelope on his nightstand last night. He had only gotten round to opening it in the early hours of dawn, his throat parched and leathery, the Firewhiskey leaving him with a throbbing head and a full bladder.
So he had sent the Murtlap. Or his drunken conscience had. Malfoy stumbled to his trunk, groping its contents to check if his vial of Murtlap was with him, hoping this was some continuation of a horrid nightmare.
His fingers scrambled through the contents of his trunk, desperate.
"Salazar please."
Leaping to his feet he grabbed his wand from his bed.
" Accio Murtlap."
Nothing again. He cursed. Running his hands through his shoulder-grazing locks, he began pacing back and forth.
"I am an idiot," he thought bitterly. "All I wanted was a good shag, just a normal night with the boys and even that had to take a turn for the worse."
He had communicated with her.
Actually reached out on his own. This was a new boundary he had crossed. Up until now every time he had encountered the Mudblood, he had been forced into the situation and unable to react, this time, however, he had initiated a situation. Furthermore, he had been drunk, which had consequently lowered his mind's reasoning power causing the mess he was in now. His heart had wanted to help her and he had.
So much for being a servant of the Dark Lord. So much for being a Malfoy. He had spoken to dirty blood.
Helped it.
Just as this thought entered his mind, Draco Malfoy emptied the entire content of his stomach onto the carpeted floor.
He needed to do something. Immediately. With a flick of his wand, he cleaned up his mess. Another flick and his bed was made, surroundings cleaned. He took in his reflection on the large mirror that hung in the dormitories.
Grey-silver eyes looked back at him surrounded by waxy pale skin, translucent with insomnia. Walking out into the common room was hard, last night's partiers lay in various positions of slumber, they had been too drunk to make it back to their beds. Slytherin party guide.
He spotted Blaise Zabini sandwiched in between a handsome fourth-year male and a lanky fifth-year female. Draco smirked. Salazar knew this would be one intriguing tale that Zabini wouldn't wait to share after regaining consciousness. Blaise Zabini famously swung both ways. It was Slytherin lore.
Right by the common room entrance was slumped Theodore Nott, Firewhiskey still clenched in his hand. The boy was passionate about everything, liquor being his solace.
Tonight would be fun.
Pulling out his wand he muttered a 'scourgify', effectively cleaning up his friend before leaving the Slytherin dungeon.
It was early still, too early for Saturday breakfast. He made his way to the Quidditch pitch. Seating himself in the stands he focused on breathing and centering his mind. It felt like he was an eleven-year-old again, being taught to control his magic, control his mind.
His father had taken the help of Bellatrix Lestrange, his aunt to teach Draco. Aunt Bella was the most skilled Legilimens in the family if not one of the most skilled in the wizarding world. She was a pupil of the Dark Lord himself, the only Death eater to have learned the arts directly from their master. During the summers of his early years before he began attending school Aunt Bella and Uncle Rodolphus stayed at the Manor, assisting his father in training him. Shortly after he had started school, the pair had been sent to Azkaban, found guilty for their crimes as Death Eaters.
The constant feeling of disgust bubbling underneath his skin threatened to wreck him again. He felt powerless, his training, his life felt wasted, he felt for the Mudblood. Enough to help her, which he had never done for anyone else besides his two friends. He was a joke. His father was right. He was the shame of the family.
Anger coursed through him, he would rectify his mistakes. He couldn't let his father down, couldn't let his family down.
She was nothing, she was dirt.
And he knew just how he would break her...
X ~ X
Guys! I need recommendations for good stories and good writers on here!! I want to read more ahhh.
